Day Fifty Seven

Furrgus 

I must Zita’s approaching Galla extravaganza has put our schedule right off.

Mrs. T went to her downtown office and on a Monday at that.

And Miss Niamh accompanied her on her early morning departure. 

We had not even rubbed the sleep from our eyes and they were gone. 

Fortunately our planning held firm and yesterday’s croissants had thawed by the time we returned from morning patrol.

So we immediately sat down and breakfasted with those croissants and far too much butter and even some of Dugal carefully hoarded Maison Andrèsy jam.

Well it is getting close to the holiday season after all.

We noticed that those squirrels were getting far too comfortably rambunctious for us, and for the memory of sainted Miss Poppy. 

So we spent the morning detailing our squirrel reduction initiative.

Mr. T looked at the resulting maps and timetables with some awe before he returned to his raisin toast. 

After a second round of croissants we stormed out the front door spray bottles of vinegar in hand. 

We sprayed each and every tree and bush thoroughly and scoured the underbrush with our walking sticks.

This sent numerous squirrels fleeing to more welcoming locations.

We followed up with cayenne pepper spread liberally around the base of the trees.

So filled with satisfaction we went off to Ichiban for lovely some cream filled cheese buns.

We took a long meander home as it was not very cold and we could, if truth be told, use the exercise.

And as there is some suggestion that it might snow tomorrow we thought we best take advantage of the situation. 

When we got home the temperature had dropped and we were exceptionally happy to see that Dugal had made hot chocolate toddies for all of us.

Except for Mr. T who does not partake, but does not seem to have suffered greatly from abstinence. 

Which is a bit of a conundrum if you ask me.

He just had whipped cream on top of his. 

When Mrs. T got home from her other office, she finished assembling her patented lasagna, before plopping it into the oven.

So it would be all ready and delicious when she brought our Miss Niamh home from a long day at the university.

Now our only complaint about Mrs. T’s lasagna is that there are less leftovers in the refrigerator than one might hope for. 

So we have to ration our portions. 

We had to forgo our Scrabble game tonight, as it is Castle Tirom’s quarterly report day tomorrow.

As such Festis and I need to peruse the mountain of documentation that cousin Morag has been sending us, lest we look entirely incompetent.

A state that is rather easy to come by in Morag’s august presence. Even through Zoom we get intimidated. 

So we best have a better handle on the current financial, physical and psychological state of our patrimony. 

We would not wish for a repetition of July’s debacle let me tell you. 

Sometimes those 4,708 kilometres seem a tad too close if you ask me.